I Need You There to Break Me
by OneDropoftheOcean
Summary: The first time it happened, it really wasn't his fault. To be honest, he thinks it can't be said it's anyone's fault, actually.


The first time it happened, it really wasn't his fault. To be honest, he thinks it can't be said it's anyone's fault, actually. It's like what they say in those romance films that Annabeth used to drag him to, back when they were in love and dating (Eventually they burned out; as all love stories do when it's just not meant to be). "We leaned in and… it just sort of happened".

In his defense, he never bought that line. He thought that, on whichever side of a mysterious, dark and illegimate love affair, there was someone to blame. (Because to say "it just sort of happened" doesn't sound responsible and _everything_ can't "just sort of happen"). But when it actually happened to him –which he never dreamed would happen—the line came back to his memory. And he really couldn't ignore it: "we leaned in and… it just sort of happened". (What other explanation was there?)

They'd been fighting like kids, throwing punches and laughing while rolling around on the soft green grass of Camp Half-Blood. It was a closeness they'd never shared until now, and even then he was already so, so grateful for it. (In their strange view of the world, fighting like cats and dogs was pretty much the fastest way to prove your affection to someone). The other boy had been deprived of anything good in his life, anything he'd ever had a chance of looking up to, and that mainly because of him. Of his own stupid mistake, of his own detestable irresponsibility. (Though it was Bianca herself who suggested the idea, without giving him time to protest about it). So it was no surprise if he had turned a cold shoulder against him for all this time ; when he had suddenly appeared out of nowhere, his eyes set in a deadpan stare, he had been expecting more of his usual coldness and apparent indifference than to be pounced on ferociously, albeit affectionately.

He'd barely had time to cry out his name in surprise –a muffled half syllable of _"Ni-!"_ (How eloquent!) before falling to the ground, crushed by the other boy's body. Once he got over the initial shock, he immediately scrambled back out, determined on winning the fight. (Boys will be boys, in whatever situation they may be in). Nico, on the other side, threw punches out at the rhythm of ten a second, all the while bearing a playful smirk on his pale face.

Then something had changed. Just like that, it wasn't a playful fight anymore. Maybe it was the way Nico's weight suddenly shuffled to place itself entirely on him, crushing it painfully. Maybe it was how this one punch felt suddenly much harder and better-aimed than the ones preceding it. Or maybe it was just how Nico's black eyes suddenly seemed to turn even darker. Not the way eyes naturally change in color, though; when he saw them, he somehow got the idea of someone painting over these irises with a great Chinese brush dabbed in black ink. (A brush going over and over those eyes again, filling the white spaces that were sparks of joy, coloring them with the shade of nothingness and emptiness). He didn't have much time to think about it though, as he was tackled once again to the ground; he started to get worried about how the fight was turning out (At that time, he had to admit, he was more concerned for his own well-being than for Nico's).

In the midst of all his confusion, his brain, as slow as usual of course, managed to produce the vague thought that "Okay, this needs to end somehow" (What a genius he was then!). He seized Nico's wrists and held them away from himself, trying to calm the other boy with what he imagined were soothing noises –for Nico had gone into a frenzy, his face torn with a grimace of fury and rage, his breath coming out in sharp, short pants. He'd finally managed to make his opponent look him in the face, and asked: "Nico, what's wrong?"(Although he'd already started to fear the answer).

Nico had turned from him, and run. He instinctively followed behind him, trudging in his dirt and cursing under his breath. (Why did he always have to behave like such a stupidhead?) Fortunately, Nico appeared to have tired himself in their fight, and he easily caught up with the younger boy. He was panting, his cheeks slightly red from running, and as he felt his companion's hand touch his shoulder, he immediately shrugged it off, with a look of defiance in his eyes. But there is something else too in there, something that can't really be placed, but his friend knows it's there, and it shouldn't be, because to see it in Nico's eyes is just _wrong_. (Frankly, it makes him want to tear whoever or whatever made it be there into pieces with his bare hands).

And that's all it took for him to pull him into the tightest hug he had ever given anyone, even Annabeth (That should've ringed an alarm in his head for what was about to happen). Nico struggled for a while, then relaxed into his arms. After that, they walked silently by each other, each of them not even risking a glance in the other's direction. As luck would have had it, the Camp was almost empty then, devoid of any satyrs or training half-bloods running around, for night was already approaching, and everyone knew that being caught out after curfew wasn't good news for them (Good news for the harpies, though). Somehow, they reached Poseidon's bungalow. No words were exchanged as the two boys entered the cabin, and as one slouched down on one of the beds, the other one made as best a cup of tea as he could, and brought it to his friend, still in complete and utter silence.

Nico didn't touch his tea; it something that he noticed, and yes, he realized that it was kind of off the point, but it was just that little fact that caught at the corner of his eye, and, worried as he was, he couldn't help but interpret it as another sign that something dreadful had occurred (When you're worried about something, everything around you just makes you feel more stressed, and before you know it it's one pile of stress adding onto another and another and another –and he was no stranger to this kind of feeling).

When Nico started to talk again, the first thing he said was: "The tea is cold". And the other boy was so relieved to hear that voice again that his brain, of course, didn't register his thoughts before they came out his lips, a slumbered mix of syllables: "Well, it serves you right for not drinking it sooner"(Maybe they had been silent for so long that it drove them mad, plunging them into a world of random craziness –or crazy randomness).

And almost immediately, he curses himself for being so stupid; talking about tea right now? Really? (Nico, though, had been the one to bring it up). But that thought vanished as quickly as it came, because the next moment Nico was looking at him with those black eyes of his, and what had looked so wrong in them seemed to have somewhat diminished. He said his name, softly, though not in a way that could've been judged unnatural. It was just a name, uttered into the silence of the night, and yet the listener listened to it as hard as he could. (If it is truly possible to listen _hard_). "Percy". And Percy, for some reason, almost wanted to cry. "Don't be such a sissy", he had told himself, and forced out a weak smile, and an even weaker reply: "That's me" (He had almost wanted to applaud himself, for what a superbly brilliant remark that was!).

That was when the first time had happened. Suddenly Percy was sitting on the bed, abnormally close to Nico, and one of them leaned him –he couldn't for the life of him remember who, it just as easily could've been either of them—and… "it just sort of happened"(Just as in the movies).

Nico's lips were touching Percy's, and for some reason the latter one was reminded of the ocean waves crashing against each other in a mass of angry water, under the clashing, thundering sky, as black as ink and night and… and Nico. Green waves against blackness. Green against black. Green, black, green, black… All over again and again and again. And Percy can't even say, or think, or feel that this is good, that this is effing great; because suddenly "good" or "great" or "exhilarating" or maybe "right" just weren't there anymore. (It's not really that they weren't enough; they just weren't _there_ anymore). He only wanted to feel the anger of the ocean, the delightful darkness of the night again, right there, right then, against Nico's lips and through his lips and into his very soul. (As far as he can go, into the core of his being, where he believes, no, where he knows that they are one and the same).

They talked about it afterwards. It wasn't like those cliché stories where none talks about it and it just remains in the air, stuck there, a never-ending tension that leaves the audience agape with suspense. They did talk about it, truly. Well, they tried to. It wasn't like it was too awkward or weird to talk about it; for some reason, it didn't feel uncomfortable. And Percy didn't know whether or not he'd suddenly become gay, or bi, or whatever it was, or if it had always been a part of him. He had a feeling though, that these labels didn't matter, since the only guy, girl or person he could find himself wanting was Nico. As they talked, the discussion kind of got carried away to more futile subjects, like how the Camp was going, and if Grover and Juniper had been caught making out in the strawberry fields, _again_. They were laughing and smiling and Percy wondered, no, marveled at how easy it was to talk to Nico now, when it had been such a long task to break the ice with him before. It didn't bother him, though. (Not one bit).

They then talked about what had bothered Nico in the first place. They didn't stay on the subject as long, though, as Percy would've wished they had. Nico only furrowed his eyebrows, looked down at the ground and his feet, and said: "It's hard to explain, you know. I mean, to someone different. Someone that doesn't hang around dead people all the time. I'm sorry to be such a drama queen, but it's just that… It gets heavy, sometimes. I thought this once about how I spent most of my life in the Underworld –and that when I'd die I'd spend all eternity there too. I don't know why, but that scared the shit out of me. I tried to talk to Bianca about it, but I can't say it made me feel better." He looked up at Percy then, and right then his eyes were bright, with something that looked like the saddest of feelings: nostalgia, melancholia, or something in that particular order. "I know I should've gotten over it long ago, and I'm just acting like a big baby, but… I just can't. I feel like I'm trapped, some days. Like something's bound to be out for me. And without her… it just makes things even worse than they should be, that's it. I'm afraid that… in some way… I won't be able to get over it… to get over her." And Percy hadn't known what to tell him, so he'd simply kissed him again, and again, everywhere on his face and his neck and hugged him with the full force of his body; and somehow, that had seemed enough for Nico.

The first time they had sex was Hades' cabin, unlike the many times Percy had imagined it, alone in his room, under the covers, during the long nights without Nico, with his windows shut tight and his door locked securely. (At that age, you can hardly expect better from him). And it's not like there were no awkward parts or uncomfortable moments –there were, of course, as it was expected for two boys as inexperienced as them. (They were pretty much virgins, despite Percy's minute amount of experience with Annabeth). But then when the pleasure got to them, everything just seemed to flow so naturally, and both boys embraced it with all their might, for a feeling of strange despair mixed in with their erotic ecstasy, as if they'd already sensed that, in the very beginning, the end was born.

It became a routine. They had sex every day, almost ten times a day, and at the end of it Nico left silently, pulling on his clothes clumsily with the usual shaky gestures after an orgasm, and Percy was alone on the bed. He first told himself that nothing was wrong; things were actually working out well for them. The Campers, when they had taken knowledge of their affair, hadn't reacted badly; they had been accepted by everyone. He was getting awesome sex with Nico very, _very_ frequently, which was something he knew most people in bad relationships ached for. But something felt wrong, though. Even then, something had already begun to feel wrong, like a false note in a beautiful melody. (And what a beautiful melody their little, messed up, twisted affair was.)

Nico rested a while on Percy's chest or shoulder before leaving the cabin in a hurry. And he knew it was cliché and corny and everything bad you could find in a cheap romance movie, but the fact that Nico was there, head gently relaxed on his skin, breathing in and breathing out like a sleeping child… The fact that Nico's hair was tousled from their activities, and that he could run his fingers tenderly through that black, beautiful hair… Well, the fact overall that Nico is _his lover_, makes him feel like the luckiest, happiest guy on Earth. (Despite all his misfortune and the fact that monsters can chase him down the street and end his life any day, he actually really believes it). And, although in a relationship like this, anyone else would've run away long ago, Percy stayed for those moments. They lasted hours at first. Then they lasted half hours, minutes, and sometimes dramatically shortened to barely a few seconds. (Seconds of gold, that is, seconds of pure glittering, precious gold). But Percy always remembered them, no matter how painfully short, and he decided that a few seconds of that peaceful glory is well worth an eternity of lonely misery. (But the misery had only just begun).

When he first mentioned the word "love", it doesn't turn out the way he had hoped it would. (That would be the understatement of the year). After sex, Nico was, as usual, lying lazily on his chest, and Percy was stroking his hair. Then, suddenly, the younger boy got up, stretched in a miserable attempt at detachment, and made for the door. Percy had not thought at that moment. The words had just poured from him like the raging ocean, which hates so much to be contained, and longs to explode out of its cage to freedom. "Wait!" he had cried out. Nico had paused for a while, as if debating whether or not he should ignore this remark. It was a bit comical, really, like an error in a movie scene shot with bad actors, Percy had mused to himself on the corner of his mind. (He was surprised he could find something so random comical at this moment). But when Nico had turned to him with his black eyes and furrowed brows and not one trace of tenderness across his face, Percy had thought that Nico was, in fact, a very good actor. For he himself would've been unable to plaster on such a cold expression, to wear such an unwelcoming look. "What?" Nico had said, or rather spat out the words. And Percy, just like the damned fool he was, frozen by Nico's eyes, had whispered out the world's most miserable "I love you…"

The moment he'd felt a fist strongly connecting with his jaw, he'd thought of that night, when they shared their first kiss. (He turned out to be a desperate romantic after all). But then he was on the ground and bleeding, and Nico was standing over him, screaming with uncontrolled rage, face twisted and red with fury. (He'd never seen him this angry before). He didn't remember saying anything to stop him, as Nico kicked him like a master kicks his dog, and left out the front door even faster than he did usually.

He had disappeared for a year. That had been the worst year of Percy's life. He'd been running out to the borders of Camp Half-Blood, calling Nico's name, rushing there to be the first one to see his small, dark silhouette across the horizon… But there was never anything to be seen. The horizon line stayed as desperately flat and empty as it always had been, save for the usual new Camper that arrived every now and then. Until one day. One day, when Nico had come back. (All dark hair tousled and messy, clothes dirty and black, face looking weary yet smirking at the same time). Percy had hugged him, and he hadn't pulled back, responding instead with one of the fiercest kisses that had ever been shared between them. (And that was saying a lot). And Percy thought –blissfully—that his Nico was back and just as he had been before. (No such luck though).

As many times before, he turned out to be wrong. Nico was back. But it would've been a great deal too much –and too good—to say that he was back to normal. The same routine settled down. They had sex, and Nico left as if the room was on fire. And those precious golden moments that Percy cherished so much, well, as the days went by they grew less and less until there were close to none. (But still he didn't run away).

Some nights, when they were in bed and holding each other so tight that they could hardly breathe at all, Percy would hear Nico whisper words, hushed and precipitated, into his ear. As much as he hoped, it was not his name. It was never his name that Nico whispered; it wasn't anyone's name at all. Percy heard the same words, fierce and fast, sharp and low: "Break me. _Break me_". And, of course, as any self-respecting warm and tender lover, he worried about it. To hear his loved one repeat over and over again the words "break me"… And especially in that tone, because that tone was desperate, yet commanding, and Percy was reminded of an agonizing warrior lying on the ground underneath his triumphant opponent, begging to be killed, finished off. (To associate that painful image with Nico caused a burning feeling of anger and denial in his chest and stomach). One day, he'd asked Nico about it. Nico didn't answer. When Percy kissed him and wrapped his arms around his neck and begged him to answer, to let him help if he could help, he didn't answer. He didn't even move, and that had creeped his lover out. Percy had touched Nico's hands and noticed that they were cold as ice; just as still, too. And that was when he had started to fear that he was losing Nico for good. (Maybe, though, just maybe he should've started to worry about that a bit earlier).

After a year had passed by in this way, Percy had decided to confront Nico about it. It couldn't go on like this, it just couldn't. In his mind, a relationship was an affair of give and take, and there was no taking if you weren't giving something back as well. What was Nico giving to him? Those moments he adored were gone, long gone now. And what was Percy giving? The world. When he first started yelling out at Nico, though, he had to muster all his strength just to stay angry at the guy, because causing him any kind of pain or discomfort is just like someone kicking him in the shin twelve times in a row, it hurts so bad. "What am I to you?" he screamed. "The love of your life? Your boyfriend? Your booty call?" Nico, who had been silent since then, had reacted at this. He turned to Percy, black eyes alight with the flame of destruction. "Maybe you are my fucking booty call", he hisses. "What's it matter to you?" Percy had almost dropped his jaw at that moment. "What's it matter to me?" he had shouted right back. "Are you kidding me? What's it matter to me? It matters to me because you're treating me like dirt, that's what matters to me!" "And so?" "So it hurts!" Nico looked at him with an expression so fierce and yet, it seemed, so ready to fall apart within itself. "You think you know what being hurt feels like? You have everything! I have less than nothing. Can't I even ask for one miserable little booty call in this world? Or am I fucking doomed to only make friends in the Underworld? To only feel a connection with the dead? Fucking hell, it feels like I'm dead myself…" And Nico had kept on rambling furiously to himself, under his breath, until Percy had somewhat reluctantly cut him off. "I understand if you're feeling hurt and lonely, but I was there to… to be there for you! I was there to love you! You didn't need to feel lonely! But can't you understand that I don't fucking want to be your miserable little booty call? I have feelings too! I get hurt and lonely too! You're not the only one to be miserable in this relationship! I want to be more for you! I offered to be more –everything to you! You can't just go around acting like it's my fault if you declined! " There had been a silence, during which the whole anger of the two boys seemed to gather up in a dusty cloud over their heads, then slowly fall, disintegrate around them, leaving them stuck in a miserably awkward moment: the usual post-fight phase. Nico had taken a long, deep breath before saying: "You are a lot for me. Trust me… you're… you're much more than what you think you are to me. You mean a lot –so much—to me. But… did it ever come to your mind that maybe I don't need, want a relationship?" Percy had stopped dead at that, realizing that he'd never actually taken the time to ask himself that. He felt like the biggest idiot then. "You mean… You're not ready for one?" he asked, gentle and apologetic. Nico shook his head, looking as if he had a hard time finding the right words. "No… I'm saying maybe I won't ever want a relationship", he finally said, looking at Percy directly in his face. "What you call a relationship. Maybe all I'll ever need or want is a booty call. I don't know about that. But I do know that… well, whatever you are… I kind of want you there. Need you there." Percy had reddened with joy at that, and his face had split into a dazzling smile. "Could you repeat that one more time?" he asked, a bit cheekily, he thought himself. Nico sighed, and said: "I need you there". And those words rang like the softest of songs, like the most magnificent of melodies, like the holiest harmonies that Percy had ever known or dreamed to know. And, in a corner of his mind, he absently thought that, um, wait, this was supposed to be an argument and get us into a real relationship. (But he only thought about it absent-mindedly). He understood that this goal was not truly achieved, but he didn't care, because all he could hear was: "I need you there". (It echoed in his head: need you there, need you there, need you there.)

And the same routine settled down, once again. Strangely, Percy didn't feel that bothered anymore. Maybe he'd become immune to it. But he worried for Nico, because something kept nagging at his mind that this wasn't healthy, for either of them. And, if he found out he could kind of deal with it (but still only _kind of_), it wasn't the same for Nico. He felt guilty, because he knew they were tumbling deeper and deeper into the dark, and maybe he was even helping his lover to lose himself, but he didn't feel he had the power to make it stop. (Because beyond reason and right and wrong, this was just too good). And Nico keeps whispering the words: "Break me. _Break me_" during sex, and sometimes –very rarely—he afterwards says the words, "I need you there". (Maybe he wants to reassure Percy; it doesn't come to him that he's actually doing the opposite). But somehow it all blends into one sentence in Percy's mind: "I need you there to break me". And, well, even a Seaweed Brain like him can figure out that it doesn't sound very good. (Not at all).


End file.
